


Gabriel's Nightmare

by messofthejess



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Minor Violence, Nightmares, can you tell I'm not the biggest fan of Gabriel Agreste?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 13:44:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16138466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messofthejess/pseuds/messofthejess
Summary: Sandboy might not have attacked Gabriel, but what if he had? What thoughts plague the subconscious of Paris' most visible fashion designer and most secretive villain?





	Gabriel's Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyOfPurple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOfPurple/gifts).



Sleep did not come easily for Gabriel Agreste. His fashion empire was his lifeblood, and it demanded that he keep long hours and scrutinizing attention on every last detail. Often he would not go to bed before one in the morning, only to rise at five a.m. sharp to face a new day. Even as a child, he was plagued by fits of insomnia which led to him dozing off in his classes. Strict bedtimes didn’t work, medication only made him more irritable, and sound machines and sleep masks stimulated rather than soothed.

So on those precious few nights where Gabriel was able to pull himself away from his work and slip away to his bedroom before midnight, he savored every moment.

Of course, restful sleep came at a price.

Of course he had to dream about _her_.

Emilie was never far from his mind. Gabriel was a master at schooling his face into a mask of detached composure most             of the time, but internally he dwelled on her, an undercurrent in his thoughts. He thought of how the rain beat down mercilessly that wretched afternoon, how her black umbrella dipping into the backseat of their limousine was the last glimpse he had of his wife alive. He thought of her gazing out the window, past the rivulets pouring from the roof to the outskirts of Paris. She loved going for car rides. They helped to clear her head, Emilie said, but Gabriel never believed her head was so busy that it needed clearing.

Did she scream when the limousine swerved off the road? Did she call out for him, or for Adrien, or for herself? Or was it a garbled sound as flying glass severed her throat?

In any case, she was here. Gabriel sat up in bed to see her standing at the window, faced away from him. Her blond hair twisted in an easy styled curl, and a deep blue shawl rested over her shoulders. The crest of her cheekbone caught the starlight in a way that left him breathless. She could rob his lungs of air with a single look; he was never quite on balance whenever she was around.

“Emilie,” he whispered, although there was no need. They were the only two people in the room.

She turned and glanced over her shoulder toward the bed, looking so much like the iconic shot from _Solitude_. A small smile played on her lips, but she didn’t speak. Instead, the upturn of her lips was a silent invitation. _Come join me._

Gabriel did just as she asked, without question. His bare feet scratched against the carpeting as he made his way over to the window. She was only gossamer and imagination, but he didn’t feel alone standing next to her. If anything, it made her more real.

“This was our room,” she said after a long pause, her voice lingering on _our_. “Do you feel lonely here?”

“I don’t spend much time here if I can avoid it,” he admitted. For the first month after she died, Gabriel couldn’t bring himself to enter their bedroom. Only after he needed his spare pair of glasses that he kept in the nightstand did he stumble in, and that was mostly an accident.

“Hmm.” Emilie produced a fan from underneath her shawl and snapped it open, fluttering it in front of her face. That was one of her quirks: carrying a fan with her at all times, even when the temperature dipped below freezing. She had been determined to bring them back as a fashion accessory. _I don’t know why they ever went out of style_ , she’d told him once. _They’re beautiful and practical. Better than a sunhat for keeping cool, and absolutely crucial for black tie events._ Whenever he was on a business trip overseas, he made it a point to find a fan for her to add to her collection. By the time she died, there was one to coordinate with nearly every outfit in her wardrobe, and then some.

“You look lovely,” Gabriel offered.

“Don’t I always?”

“I—” There it was again: setting him right on a knife’s edge so one wrong slip of the tongue could send him reeling into faux pas after faux pas. She insisted that she never did this to make him truly uncomfortable; it was only her way of teasing. _It’s how I love you_ , she’d said on their fifth date. Between that and the wordplay, he never felt like he was on top of his game.

Maybe that’s why he tried so hard to keep her quiet.

“You don’t have to answer.” Emilie touched the sleeve of his pajamas, and Gabriel tried not to jump out of his skin. They never touched in his dreams. “You don’t have to tell me what I already know.”

“Right,” he mumbled, looking down at her evening gown. Divine by Agreste, Fall/Winter 2014, royal blue. Emilie had stunned at Paris Fashion Week when she made a surprise appearance on the catwalk, Adrien modelling the house’s new formalwear for young men at her side. The two made quite the mother-son pair, radiant under the glare of spotlights. By far, the dress was one of Agreste’s best-selling items in its history. And of course it was one of Emilie’s own designs. It was _always_ her designs that stole the show.

“Something wrong?”

“No.” What caught Gabriel’s eye next was the brooch pinning Emilie’s shawl together. A peacock, its tail spread out in nine proud turquoise feathers. The very same peacock that sat on a shelf inside his personal safe, behind the giant painting of her done up in gold as an homage to Klimt. The only thing of hers that was found at the crash site, aside from the smoldering wreckage of the limousine. “Where did you get this?”

Emilie frowned up at him. “You gave it to me five years ago, after your first trip to Shanghai. Don’t you remember?”

“Of course, but—”

“You never remember,” she mumbled. “Anything that isn’t important to you is something worth forgetting…”

Her shawl slipped off of one shoulder, and Gabriel flinched at the jagged pink scar slicing across to her collarbone. A gash traced down the side of her neck, blood bubbling out and dripping down her chest. Her green eyes met his blue ones, heavy with tears.

“Why did you forget me?” she asked in a hush. “Why was my image the only thing that mattered to you?”

“I didn’t forget you,” Gabriel replied, bewildered. What on earth was she going on about?

“You forgot I was a person. As long as I was beautiful, as long as I stuck to the script, I could be your _wife_.” Emilie spit the last word out, her eyebrows knitting together. “I could be the perfect mother to your son. Because _everything_ functions around Gabriel Agreste and his narrow-minded vision of the world. But if someone steps one toe out of line, they’re worthless. They must be dealt with. They’re _disposable._ ”

Gabriel gasped as the tail feathers on Emilie’s peacock brooch illuminated, bathing her face in an eerie glow. Feathers began to sprout from the bridge of her nose and spread across her cheeks, surrounding her eyes—shimmering, iridescent feathers with eyes of their own which seemed to bore into Gabriel’s every cell, unblinking. They multiplied, racing down her neck and masking her scars, growing in thicker and thicker until she almost seemed swallowed up—

Then he was falling, falling, falling. Maybe he merely stumbled back against the curtain framing the window, but the void was velveteen and comforting. That is, until the back of his head met cold, solid tile, and stars burst behind his eyelids. He heard the flutter of a thousand tiny wings all around, and he realized he must be in his lair. No, not the lair, the _sanctuary_. It might have been where he wreaked havoc on Paris, but above all else, it was a resting place for Emilie. The _real_ Emilie, not the monster that his subconscious seemed hell-bent on torturing him with.

Someone grabbed him by his shirt and hoisted him up. Gabriel’s feet scrabbled for the floor, but found no friction to save himself.

“Look at me,” a voice snarled at him. “ _Look!_ ”

Trembling, Gabriel opened one eye. Emilie stood before him, glaring, the fist clenched under his chin covered in blue silk. Her feather mask now curled down over her cheeks, framing her mouth, and more feathers had grown in over her neck to form a high collar. From his current position, he couldn’t look down too far, but he didn’t need to look to know the rest of the outfit. Peacock blue unitard. Clawed boots tipped in gold. A cape overlaid with yet more feathers, a thousand teal eyes keeping silent watch over her back. She’d only transformed once in front of him, a complete accident, but he would remember that ensemble forever.

“ _Paon_ ,” he managed to choke out, and the fist in his shirt bunched up closer to his throat.

“That’s right.” Emilie’s grin was positively wicked. “Let’s see how well you remember your grimoire, Gabriel. What does the peacock Miraculous represent?”

“B-beauty. But that was only at first,” Gabriel recited. “In recent centuries, it’s taken on another meaning…truth.”

“Very good. Glad to know you’ve been studying.” Emilie tilted her head. “I assume you also know that the Peacock has changed hands more times throughout its existence than any other of the Miraculouses. Its holders tend to meet bitter, unfortunate ends, mostly because someone wanted to silence them.” She arched an eyebrow, high above her mask. “Sound familiar?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Emilie clicked her tongue. “Typical. Just what I expected of you.” She let go of the front of his shirt, and Gabriel saw stars burst behind his eyelids when his head hit the floor. A new multitude of wings fluttered past him, the butterflies startled by the noise. If only he could transform...this was a dream, after all. Shouldn’t he be able to become Hawkmoth?

But that, Gabriel realized with a cold shock, would be playing right into Emilie’s hands. If he transformed, he wouldn’t be confronting her as himself, but rather the image he hid behind. Damn, he’d been backed into a corner.

“There’s one more odd little thing about the Peacock,” Emilie remarked. She now stood a few feet away from him, her back was turned toward him again, and Gabriel sat up to follow her with his eyes. “Every time one of its holders dies, the Miraculous has usually reappeared in the hands of someone else a very short time later. Truth doesn’t like to die, Gabriel.” She turned to face him, a feather quill balanced between two fingers. “It has a funny way of re-emerging when you least expect it.”

She strode toward him. At that moment, sunlight broke through the sanctuary window as the metal shutters folded away, startling the butterflies once more. Six silhouettes stood backlit just under the window—one of them was spinning an infernal yo-yo that caused countless problems for himself and his akumas. Ladybug. She followed Emilie in edging closer to Gabriel, the other silhouettes following her. Gabriel could pick out Chat Noir slinking by Ladybug’s side, but the others were somewhat of a mystery. New companions? In any case, he could feel them glaring daggers into his body.

“The truth will come out, my dear.” Emilie knelt on Gabriel’s side, cupping his face with one gloved hand. The feather quill spun between her fingers. “Your empire, built on a hill of lies, will crumble. Your own son will forget you in search of a better name. And in the end, your legacy will be meaningless. Worthless.”

“Liar!” Gabriel roared.

“Why not save yourself the trouble and let me scratch you out of history now?” With that, Emilie raised her quill and slashed hard across his face.

Gabriel woke up then in a cold sweat. He fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand and flicked on the lamp, his heart racing. No mysterious woman by the window. No peacock feathers on the duvet cover. The bridge of his nose was killing him, pounding due to stress, but there was no gash from a quill or any other sharp object on his face so far as he could tell.

“It was only a dream,” he mumbled to himself, ignoring how his legs shook as he walked to the en-suite. “Only a dream.”  

             

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, feels weird publishing something on AO3 after nearly a year of radio silence. Yet it feels good to be dipping my toes into a new fandom too. Hope you enjoyed it :D


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